The Heart of Europe
by the-dramatic-harmonica
Summary: A Budapest Origin story. The mission to recover new tech for SHEILD and take out a terrorist goes wrong when their target happens to know a lot more about Natasha than he should...specifically who may have murdered her parents. Clint must help Natasha maintain a clear head, but he's in fear of get comprisied himself, as he realizes he's falling for her.
1. Don't Get Compromised

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, all characters belong to their appropriate creators, Marvel, Stan Lee, Joss Wheddon. **

**Natasha Romaoff/ Clint Barton**

**Thank you for reading!**

**Budapest, Chapter One**

He wasn't supposed to get emotional, not now of all times as he fired another arrow at the demon aliens Loki had sent down. He couldn't help it though, how his heart skipped a beat as she said Budapest. How could he even begin to think about everything that had happened in Budapest? The secrets they had discovered or the lines they had crossed? What was he supposed to say? What could he say? _Budaspest is when I fell in love with you? _How could he compromise himself, now of all times? For she, had declared love to be a child's word. Weren't they better than revelations of love in the heat of battle? This wasn't some bad action movie where in the midst of a battle they have time for confessions or to even touch each other. So he buried it, and reminded himself to come back to it later, if they live through this.

"You and I remember Budapest very differently," he responded.

* * *

It was supposed to be like any other mission, but of course that's how it always started. The base he reported to was an abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of Hungary.

"You'll be working with agent Romanoff," Coulson reported, handing him the files that enclosed his target.

"Fine," Clint told him, as if he wasn't looking forward to working with her. They complimented each other perfectly, she was cunning, weaving webs with clear thought out plans, and he was the impulsive action guy. Together, they were unstoppable.

He climbed to the mezzanine and perched himself on the boards of the roof, gazing down at the people beneath him, as he reviewed the case. Before he could read about the target, she arrived. She looked different from when he had seen her last, nearly 3 months ago, her hair now gold. Falling in glorious curls, past her shoulders, she walked briskly in the stilettos, as if she wasn't dressed in a stunning red dress. He dropped down from his position and climbed to the floor, eager to start working with her again.

"Tasha," he greeted, striding up to her, mentioning nothing of her formal dress.

"How was Malta?" he asked, hearing tales of her latest missions.

"Easy," she shrugged. He had just finished the file on her and knew that assassinating 3 drug dealers, finding a secret base camp and handing the leader over to the authorities after a heated interrogation ( she submitted herself to) was not to be classified as _easy_ by anyone else.

"Barcelona?" she asked, as they started walking in sync towards the weapons room.

"No complications," he lied and suddenly the memories of fighting off guards with his bare hands, broken bows and arrows, and almost loosing his tooth flashed in his mind.

"Ready for Budapest?" she asked, with a grin as she attached a gun the the inside of her calf, and he tried not to look, slinging arrows into his quiver.

"Are you going to change?" he asked, because he couldn't salvage it, she had already noticed that he was looking. She shrugged and flashed him a grin.

"Have you even looked over the file?" she asked, before she walked off in front of him, leading the way to the car that would take them to the hotel.

"The target is Markus Horvat," Natasha rounded off in the car, forcing her glorious hair into a tight pony tail. "Ex military, recently developing technology that SHEILD needs. Need to know,"

"And we don't need to know?"

"It's in the packet, Clint," she responded, rolling her eyes.

"Our cover?"

"You really should read the files, you're becoming unmanageable," she teased.

"You always share the best details," he responded as justification. She laughed, a smile tracing her lips as she put on fiery red lip gloss that matched her dress.

"You're worse than Stark," she teased. He was dressed in a blazer, collared shirt and she pulled him towards her suddenly. She pulled a bow tie seemingly out of no where and pulled him closer towards her, looping the bow tie around his neck. She tied it easily and for some reason he found it difficult to think. The silence was only broken when she backed away and resumed speaking, the soft tracing of her fingers abandoning his neck.

"Natalia Angello, a curator of _gli uffizzi _in Florence," the Italian rolled off her tongue as she reevaluated her work on the bowtie and nodded, pleased at her work.

"And you, are Scott Taylor, a Texan oil tycoon-"

"I'm always a tycoon," he laughed, suddenly serious, he began to finish her sentence. Now that he found his thoughts again. "And we infiltrate, you cozy up to Horvat, ergo that stunning red dress-" he paid no attention to her reaction to the compliment and continued showing off that he had indeed read the files. "We get in, get out, no complications, once we find the location of Horvat's military base,"

"And the details of the attack he's planning,"

"Oh I love abandoned military bases filled with radiation and biological weapons," he expressed, heavy with sarcasm.

"It won't be a repeat of Banner, don't worry," she assured, placing her hand on his for a second.

"I'm not doing an accent,"

"I'll be speaking in Italian," she contradicted.

"Yeah but that's -" he stopped himself before the word _sexy _rolled off his lips. What was wrong with him lately that he couldn't even keep his head on straight? He wasn't some kid who'd just stumbled into the government's secrets and had never been with a spy before. He was the Hawk, he saw things that were miles away. He was better than this. Yet, was it so _really _so bad that in his vision of the future, he saw them? He wondered if it was one of her latest missions, the Stark millionaire, Iron Man. Had he been jealous, he tried to think, but submerged the thought. He blocked it out of his mind and practiced a thick Texan accent, he would just be covering her after all, as she seduced the Hungarian threat.

There she was, in the window, he could see her distracting Markus with a Scotch, sitting on his lap. Clint concentrated instead, on hanging upside down and scaling the building. He slipped in through the balcony, leaping and landing on his feet, not even loosing an arrow. He entered through the door she had unlocked for him, probably under some romantic pretense of seeing the stars with Markus only minutes before.

"I'm in," he muttered into his mich, and in the conjoining room he saw her countenance change. Her flirtation suddenly obvious, her Itailan thick and lustrous. God, he had to stop paying attention or she was going to distract him with all her talk of lace and, just as he told himself to look away, he banged into a desk. He stood motionless for a moment, and bit his tongue to quell the impulse to swear.

"What was that," Horvat said in the next room, in broken Italian. Natasha covered it up easily, but Clint knew he would get a scolding later.

It wasn't his fault she was being impossibly sultry. So much so that he was being borderline unprofessional. Jesus, it was embarrassing. He was better than this. He set his mind to work and advanced to the computer. It was blocked with a password that he bypassed in a number of minutes. He located the intel instantly, and other information regarding the next attack. Then, with the loaded details on a usb, he slipped back out the balcony and out of sight, hurling down the 30 story hotel. He landed without a sound on the pavement and then disconnected himself from the Harness, yanking it off the building, it fell beside him with a clank. He collected it, and flicked open his phone, dialing Coulsen. He muttered the safe word and slammed his phone shut, climbing into the car to wait for Natasha.

An hour passed, before he started to get really worried. He tried to speak to her, into her microphone, but it was no use. There was no indication that she was hearing him. He could hear her conversations, a mix of Hungarian and Italian that he had to shut off, because it was driving him insane listening to nothing but her voice in the darkness.

Just as he was about to go and see what the fuss was about, to scale the hotel all over again and break through the balcony window, firing guns and blowing their cover, just to save her ( again,) the door opened. She climbed in without a word, her hair a mess, her dress torn at the side, anger coursing through her as she slammed the door shut.

"Go," she instructed.

"Tasha," he tried, but it just made her angrier.

"GO BARTON!" she shouted.

It took ten minutes, and complete sterile silence to calm her down. He focused on the road, ignoring the impulse to stop the car or put to music on, or even to acknowledge her. She had never snapped at _him, _like that before. And use of his last name, was unprecedented, unless he counted the borderline flirtatious conversations they sometimes had.

"I'm sorry," she broke the silence.

"What happened?" he stressed.

"He wont be walking for a few days," she responded, before, "I stabbed him in the knee with a bread knife before bashing his head into the table," she shrugged as if it was nothing, so clearly that wasn't the thing that was upsetting her. He stopped the car abruptly and turned to face her.

"Start the car,"

"What the hell happened?" he tried again, but she hid behind her lashes and her stunning hair and her red pouty lips.

"Nothing I couldn't handle, obviously," she pointed out, squirming in her dress, trying to distract him. But he knew better than to fall for that, she was most beautiful to him when she was real, not some act.

"Natasha, we're a team, tell me," he faced her, resisting the urge to take his hand in hers, to brush her hair past her ears and fix here with a gaze that would tell her she could trust him.

"It's not important," she brushed off. She sighed deeply and pushed her hair back, her jaw set before she began.

"He knew me, he knew my past, and he made it very clear he knew who my parents were, who killed my par-" she stopped suddenly and bowed her head. He wondered if she was crying, and tried to stop his breathing, for fear of disrupting the moment. She looked up, distraught, but tears hidden, nothing to give emotions away. Still, this was the most vulnerable he had ever seen her. She breathed in deeply and turned her attention to the road, waiting him to start the car, trying to hide beneath her beauty and skill set. He could see through it all.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.

"It's not-" her words caught and she shook her head at her foolishness. "Let's get the bastard,"

"It's not nothing," he said suddenly and his eyes found hers, she turned to face him. He breathed in deeply and reached forward. She twitched at the movement and he paused, tentative before he placed his fingers on hers.

"I have to find out," she said suddenly, rejecting the weakness. "If he knows who did it, if he knows where to find them-"

"Tasha, you can't get distracted, you're better than this," he said, trying to calm her down. "Listen to me, you deserve the truth, but not now, not today, sometime soon, I promise," his grip tightened around her fingers. She nodded slowly, and looked up to meet his gaze.

"Thank you," she muttered, "for calming me down, after he mentioned my parents, and mentioned that all I'm good for is seducing the rich guy, the femme fatale who's just a pawn-"

"That's not even remotely true,"

"After Stark, Grayson, Hammer, Horvat and dozens more, how can you say that?" she snapped, almost aggressive, only to hide her sorrow.

"They don't know you," he pointed out.

"Horvat did, he knew my parents, he knew everything about me and he wouldn't let me go until I'd given him what he was promised," disgust dripped off the sentences. He knew he had no reason to worry about her, she could handle herself, and it was obvious that Horvat left with more scars than she did. He laughed brightly, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead.

"So you stabbed him in the knee and bashed his head in," he grinned.

"He'll have a scar for ages," she tried to quench the laughter that threatened to get out.

"I was better at this when I was one of the bad guys," she said suddenly.

"Me too," he confessed. "But isn't working for the good guys more morally rewarding or whatever?" he rolled his eyes and her laugh lit up the car, changing the atmosphere.

"Much," she agreed. "But we're not exactly superheroes,"

"Not yet," he promised, causing her to laugh once more.

"Not to be sentimental or whatever, I mean I am Russian-" her tone reverted back the seriousness felt moments before.

"Yes, and I've only ever seen you show emotion after a few vodkas," he teased.

"But seriously, thank you," He could only smile at the remark, nodding slowly.

"Anytime, Agent Romanoff," he grinned, trying for a second to run from the things he was feeling, the impulse to pull her against him and to convince her that she was perfect, so much more than the femme fatale, so brilliant that he couldn't think of anything else.

"I only defected to SHEILD for you," she confessed suddenly and that broke the dam. Everything he had been trying to keep in for months came tumbling forward. The emotions of seeing her again, the urge to protect her was rising up and possessing him. He felt like Banner, unable to control himself, leaning forward and closing the space in between them.

Once the distance was broken, nothing could hold them back. He grabbed her face in his hands, then her hair, trying to trace ever inch of her exposed skin with his fingertips, kissing her with a long repressed passion. She sunk into his touch and reacted with an intense fervor that only fueled his desire. He pulled her closer against him, though there was little space in between them, his hands sliding up her back, pulling her into their heated embrace.

He could tell she wasn't acting, this wasn't the way she kissed those billionaires, or those war lords, this was wanting, this was real. This was her, not the _widow. _

When he could find a clear thought trail, he stopped to wonder how long she had wanted to do this, because her body was betraying her. Her fingers winding in his hair, digging into his back, her tongue caressing his, pulling his attention back into the moment. Her lips then grazed along his neck, his jawline and his breathing caught before he forced himself to push her away. He held her at arm's length, meeting her gaze. Words faded from his mind and what had seemed so important moments before was trivial now. His lips were free for an instant, before she pulled him back into her arms. She didn't have to say anything for him to know that she wanted him, that she felt something for him. This was what they had always been fighting, but there was nothing they could say that with give this moment justice. They were distracted, focusing on how long they had wanted to do this, like a bitter engagement lasting years, finally to be fulfilled. It wasn't just the attraction fueling their desire, but they knew each other, they had fought together, shared battles and they knew everything about one and other now. It would be too easy to be compromised. Her fingers slipped under the fabric of his shirt and he fought himself to keep a clear head, unable to get enough of her.

It was she, with the clear head that finally pulled away from the heated make out. If anything, he had held back, as she had undone half his buttons, tossed his bow tie behind them, lip stick marks all over him. He took in her look, her disheveled hair, her dress pushed up to her mid thigh, in his flurry to touch as much of her as he thought was decent, careful not to go to far. Her lips planted a final kiss on the edge of his mouth before she finally pulled away and turned her attention back to the road. He waited for something to be said, but neither wanted to ruin the moment, or perhaps they had lost the ability to speak. Only the sound of the passing cars, and their own panting breaths filled the space between them.

He hoped that this wouldn't change anything, that it wouldn't compromise them or weaken them in the heat of battle. For, in that instant, it was just a physical release of everything they had been feeling forever, but it wasn't sentimental, it wasn't messy, or childish, it would never be classified as _love_, because it was more mature than that. Perhaps, that was what made it real.

"This won't change anything," she stated, her eyes on the road as she fixed her hair, reapplied lipstick, put on her heels. He wiped his skin clear of the traces of her lips and started on his buttons, nodding before he spoke.

"Nothing to change," he responded, so that she would know, but perhaps she had always known just how mad he was for her.

"Don't get compromised," she instructed.

"Would I?" he asked, pulling the car onto the road. He was deathly afraid that he already was.

* * *

tbc


	2. Playing With Spies

AN: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Your comments mean the world to me!

* * *

"You're late," Director Fury commented, when they arrived. By now she was back to her composed self, and no traces of their make out were on them.

"You're late, complications?" he repeated, in a stern voice.

"None," Clint spoke up, and if Natasha hadn't known it to be a lie, she wouldn't have ever guessed.

"We stopped for food," she continued and Clint ignored the impulse to smirk at her lie.

"Food?" Fury stared at them inquisitively. Though with Stark's perpetual talk of ribs or Shwarma, Clint was surprised he was even asking about it.

"Spies have to eat too," Natasha explained, before she took the USB out of Clint's hands and marched it over to IT. He watched her as she left, and Fury followed his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

He was already distracted, he realized, and it was all her fault. He needed to be as far away from her as possible, while they waited for the information to be decrypted. She intoxicated him, made him lose his train of thoughts, and it would be too dangerous to be near her right now. He had to resist, to bury what had happened that evening and forget it all, so that they would be on their A game tomorrow.

They didn't want to walk into a trap, like they had in Istanbul. Especially now that her cover had been blown.

"Barton, cards?" Maria Hill called, from a table with Agent Phil Coulson.

"Yeah!" He agreed hurriedly, wanting desperately to get away from Fury's skeptical eye as soon as possible. He soon found out that the empty seat beside him, had been Fury's. He wished desperately that the boss had something else more important to do than play poker, but to Clint's dismay, Fury sat down at the table.

He forced his attention on the cards, not on the table around him, or even Natasha meters away, talking with other agents, discussing the intel gathered that evening. She distracted him with how good she looked in that dress, and he couldn't help but remember how amazing that dress had felt against his skin, as his hands had climbed all over her body. As his fingers had found her hair and brought her into more passionate, heated kisses. Her moans played on repeat in his mind and he shook his head to bury the memory, to no avail.

"Distracted?" Fury asked, sensing his emotion. Clint hadn't even been listening, and the cards had already been dealt. He cleared his throat, changing his gaze onto some unattractive male agent, to keep the steamy thoughts of Natasha at bay. He had to make sure Fury didn't notice. He wondered if it would be better to be alone for the mission, would he be able to focus with Natasha near him? Part of him betrayed him, and his words slipped out before he could help it.

"We got burned," Barton responded calmly, before he put his money down, "raise 20,"

"WHAT?" Fury snapped, and the table shushed to silence. Clint looked up for help, but Natasha had disappeared and was no where to be seen. At least this way she wouldn't be able to stop him taking the blame. She couldn't get mad at him for telling Fury and getting her banned form the mission.

"How the hell did you manage to blow your cover in an hour long operation? I have monkeys that have a better track record than you!" Fury snapped suddenly, but Barton just focused on the game.

"It was my fault," he lied. "I put Agent Romanoff in jeopardy and Horvat recognized her,"

"And you didn't think to mention this?" Fury asked, aghast.

"Maybe we expected this operation to go smoothly, and if we had the proper intel on Horvat it would have! He knew who she was! We're lucky she even got out," Barton explained, placing the blame on Fury.

"We'll move as soon as we get the base location," he said matter of factly, and he would, even if he had to take over the operation.

"I should put you on probation!" Fury snapped, his gaze hardening, before he made up his mind.

"Romanoff's off the mission," Fury stated, throwing his money into the middle with a sulky manner.

"You try to stop her," Clint responded. He knew there was no stopping her and he felt foolish for thinking of leaving her behind even for a second. He was stronger than this, he told himself, he wouldn't get compromised in the middle of the field. He had priorities, he reasoned. He folded his cards, even though he had the _straight_ to win him the game.

He watched his twenty dollar bill disappear into Fury's wallet and used the moment to look around the room, Natasha was still no where to be seen.

After that, the game settled into a calm silence. Banter about the games, and Phil's obvious tell surfacing, but nothing more on the mission at hand, once Fury had left to prepare the evening's back up and to check on the intel being processed. Barton had done better under pressure of his presence, he had almost won a few rounds. Now it was impossible. He couldn't get Natasha out of his head long enough to concentrate on the numbers and symbols in front of him. His money was speeding away from him, all because he could taste her in his mouth still, feel the silk of her dress if he just closed his eyes. He could stop and remember that soft whimper she'd given out when he'd kissed her below the ear. Even how she'd practically ripped the bowtie off of him, pulling at his buttons. He wondered if she would dominate his dreams, or keep him in an insomniac state for the whole night, and he realized he wouldn't mind either. He could replay every moment in his head. As if he was back in the car and her fingers were slipping under the fabric of his shirt again, they had been so hot against his skin, the only thing in their way had been their own good sense, and the mission at hand. He'd zoned out, giving the Natasha in his mind his full attention, pulled out of a fantasy of ripping that red dress off her, when he heard Maria addressing him.

"Clint?" Maria was staring at him when he tuned back in.

"What?" he asked, suddenly defensive.

"It's your turn, has been for a while" Coulson responded, rearranging his cards, that was his tell.

"Yeah, call," Barton responded, though he didn't know how high the bet was. He was trying to shake memories of Natasha out of his head, but it just made them stronger. Hatching a billion new fantasies and experiences he wanted desperately to try. He was loosing the game bitterly now, passing up cards when they could guarantee a win, missing Maria and Phil's obvious tells, completely oblivious to anything but Natasha in his mind. Neither of them noticed, and they wouldn't know what was really going on, but the fact that he had managed to zone out just to think about Natasha was terrifying. He needed to protect himself, there was a reason she was called the Black Widow, after all.

He saw her a mile away. Then, his fear become exponential as Natasha approached the table. Her hair down in front of her face, straightened, wearing casual clothes. She looked dazzling and his breathing stopped, he wondered if anyone else noticed but knew that he kept it hidden well. He feared for a second that she would join them and that he would proceed to loose all his money.

"Can I talk to you?" she asked, and when Maria raised her eyebrows, she lied without a break. "We need to look over specs," Natasha explained.

"Fury says you're off the mission," Phil relayed, laying his cards down on the table with a smirk. Proud of his 2 pair.

"Then Fury can stop me," Natasha responded.

He stood quickly, as he knew he would when she asked for him to join her. He wondered what they would do, if they would actually talk about the mission, or if she would moan his name in his ear again, pull him against her and make him forget about anything but her. He got dizzy just thinking about that, or perhaps that was all the blood rushing to his head. Either way, he was eager to be alone with her and find out.

"Cards, Barton," Maria stopped him, revealing her straight with a cocked eyebrow, confident she was the victor.

"Right," he nodded, passively. He wasn't in the moment, still in the memories of the car, the feeling of Natasha's fingernails pressing into his back as she greedily kissed him. It was enough to put a guy out of work, he thought, before bringing himself back to the moment. It was hard enough being next to her, he could barely concentrate. He half wished, for his own well being and here that she wouldn't join him in the mission, defying Fury to find out the truth. But he knew her better than that.

He flipped over the cards and grabbed his jacket, not even realizing he won until Agent Coulson exclaimed,

"You want your winnings?" he asked and Clint turned around, now remembering he had a full house.

"Yeah," he collected the bills and smiled before following Natasha. Just as he left the table, he heard Maria exclaim,

"See, this is why I hate playing with spies."

* * *

His heart raced with anticipation as they approached her room. He tried to keep his mind clear, but he had no idea what to expect.

"What is this?" he asked, slowly coming to the realization that he wouldn't be reliving the fantasies of the car anytime soon. His eyes scanned over her bed, where there were stacks of weapons, including his bow, his quiver of 2 dozen arrows.

"I'm going to find out who killed my parents," she responded in a clear tone, too powerful to be real.

"Jesus Tasha," he breathed out deeply, preparing a speech to stop her.

"Are you coming or not?" she asked.

"I can't let you do this," he responded.

"You're my partner!" she snapped in a rage.

"Exactly why I need to keep you focused on the mission at hand"

"What mission!" she reacted, grabbing the gun nearest to her, she attached it to her side and started outfitting her clothes with knives, guns and other various weapons. He thought suddenly, that whether, physical or psychological scars, she could do more damage to any man with just her bare hands .

I'm off the case, I blew my cover, remember?" she looked furious at him for an instant but the emotion subsided.

"I'm sorry, I had to say something! You know you shouldn't come if you can't focus at he task at hand," he justified as an apology for exposing her to Fury.

"you're more distracted than I am!" she pointed out.

" I know," he agreed, a sudden embarrassment at the fact that she had noticed. He wondered how much the agents at e card table had caught on.

"But that's over now," he replied, burying the feeling. " I would never let it affect me during the mission," he responded, thinking of adding that he was allowed to relive fantasies of them together during a simple card game.

"Good, then you can come with me" she responded, still attaching weapons to harnessed all over her body. Some places so secretive he couldn't help but think of touching her there, running his lips all over her. So that she would forget all about anything at was worrying her.

Fury won't let you get away with it," he pointed out, cringing at each new weapon she attached to her person.

"You can spot him from a mile away," she reasoned.

"So that's why you want me to come?" he asked, wondering if she had completely forgotten about their tryst only a few hours ago. If she just saw him for his skill set. He wondered if he would go with her, abandon everything, betray the mission at hand to satisfy her curiosity. He didn't even have to justify it, he knew he would, instantly and that terrified him.

"No," she paused before she approached him, commanding him to look at her. "You're my partner," she said in a steady voice.

"That's all?" he asked, not knowing even what he was asking.

"You're the only one I told," she explained suddenly, before adding, "The only one I can tell,"

"Where do we start?" he asked in a steady voice, still disbelieving himself. He needed to distract himself from her somehow, and perhaps action was the best way.

"I have the name of Horvat's colleague, and I traced reports of him back to Moscow around the year my parents were killed-"

"When did you-"

"You played hours of poker, Barton," she explained and he grinned, laughing at himself.

"I should have known you would look into this on your own, immediately," he commented.

"I kept waiting for you to barge the door down and tell me not to," she confessed with a laugh, eyeing him uneasily. "Why didn't you?"

"I was a bit distracted," he responded, bowing his head in slight shame, before he looked up to meet her gaze head on. "Was that your plan all along?" he teased, standing up. She smiled weakly, but she knew that he understood, the car had been a mistake, an exception, one they would bury until they had time to deal with it. Until they weren't spies, and their lives weren't filled with running towards danger.

"Tasha, we can't do this," he said suddenly, when he reached her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to gaze at him.

"But-"

"I know you need answers, but we can't do this now, you know that,"

"I have to," she responded, looking down suddenly.

"Listen to me," his voice commanded her attention. "You're not thinking straight, you're letting emotions control you,"

"Funny, coming from you," she countered, her anger felt.

"Yeah but I'm not about to sabotage myself in an enemy operation," he pointed out.

"I need to do this," she contradicted, tears springing to her eyes. "You're supposed to get that! You're supposed to help me!"

"You'll get yourself killed," he pointed out.

"I can handle myself, I've been handling myself ever since I was-" the volume of her voice raised with anger, but he kept his tone the same, steady and calm. If he couldn't talk sense into her, he knew he would help her find the answer. He would become a rogue agent to help her find the truth, just for her.

"Tasha, please," she listened to him and he searched for words in the silence. He pulled her into his arms, forcing the hug. At first she resisted, feigning anger, or hurt or a billion other emotions, but then she sank into his embrace. Her arms wound around him, pulling him into her air tightly. He stroked her hair, brushing his fingers through it as he whispered.

"You're being impulsive, you need to think about this, it means everything to you, I know that. So I know that you have to do this properly. We'll get the bastard, you'll weave a web, get him in a trap and when you have him, you won't just kill him, you'll be able to ask him everything and know every secret that's ever haunted you. I'll help you, I promise you." His breath felt hot against her ear and she nodded slowly, pulling out of his embrace. He didn't realize he'd been successful until she began ripping the weapons off of her.

"I would have gone," she said in a low voice, perhaps ashamed of herself.

"And we would have gotten him," he nodded, feeling suddenly empty without her in his arms. "But not the way he deserves, and you wouldn't have had time to find out everything you deserve to know," he responded. She nodded, the edges of her mouth curving into a smile.

"How much money did you lose?" she asked.

"Hey, let's not discuss that," he faked shock, but her smile pulled a laugh out of him.

"Please, you were missing Maria's tell," she pointed out.

"I got it all back," he contradicted, unable to hold back the smile that mirrored hers.

"Only when I showed up!" she teased back. "Not that you even noticed you'd won," she smirked, her eyes glimmering.

"It's not my fault you look so good," he pointed out, pulling her back into his arms. The sudden movement startled her enough for a gasp, before her palms landed on his chest, her smile inches away from his.

"You really would have come with me?" she asked suddenly, deflating the moment. He nodded, unable to form a response with her lips so close again. He kept the reel of their kisses from the car away, prepared to make another collection of memories to be stored in his mind.

"You would have gone with me into a stupid ill thought out plan just to help me find out the truth?" she asked again, and for a second time all he could do was nod.

He thought he had been ready for the kiss, but this was not what he had expected. He was ready to relive all the heat and intense passion of the car, but this was different. As her lips grazed his in a soft manner, and as she held on, her eyes closed, holding him tightly in his arms, he felt himself fall deeper into that forbidden place. As he sunk into the kiss and pulled her closer against him, he felt himself get compromised even more. Unable to let go from the deep kiss, one that reflected truth, and trust and that word that she would never use. When she pulled away, he wondered if she could tell that everything had changed, but he realized other things were going on in her mind. She made room on the bed slowly, and he could do nothing but watch her in silence. He was struggling with his own speech, emotions and feelings billowing over him, ones he was not supposed to have. Ones that could burn him as a spy faster than losing any cover. Then, he stayed silent because he'd already made up his mind to be here for her. He didn't matter in these moments, he told himself, and he watched her with admiration, wondering how she could keep that cool head of hers, and all that pain submerged in her thin fragile shell. He wanted to hold her forever and promise her that they would find her parents' murderer. That they wouldn't act impulsively, but would find out every morsel of information the asshole had, and then finally, make him pay.

She pulled him to the bed once the weapons were on the table and he sat beside her in the silence, not once looking for words. He wrapped an arm around her and no longer wished for a heated night. He didn't think he could handle falling in love with her anymore, but the night was just beginning. One that would change everything.

"You're the only one I can talk about this to," she started. "I better not say anything compromising," she laughed darkly, but that was just what she was about to do.

If she only knew that sometime later her secrets would be spilled out to a maniacal norse god, she would have held her tongue. She couldn't stop the onrush now though, as she told him everything about her childhood, in a steady voice. She told him about her parents murder, her young spy training, things that even Shield or a dozen interrogators had never gotten out of her.

He listened carefully, nodding and trying to console her whenever he thought the timing was right, but she was strong, impossibly so and he wondered, if he had lived through the same things, how fast would he have fallen apart?

She fell asleep in his arms, exhausted from the revelations of that day. He tucked her into her bed with a blanket and refused to leave her side, even if it meant reading the same set of files over a billion times. Nothing would have made him leave her side.

* * *

[tbc]


End file.
